Vindictive [h.s]

Chapter 1 - Phone calls and Bourbon

Chapter song: Do I wanna know? - Arctic Monkeys

Ivy Blake

I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. Jesus Christ it is 7 in the morning. I roll over to check who it is and I'm not surprised to see that it's Aspen.

"Ivy are you going to Styles Bourbon? We need to meet at the coffee shop after you go so if you are still in bed, which I know you are, get your ass up."

"Personally Aspen, this is not my ideal wake up call," I'm sure she can hear my sarcasm through the phone. Aspen is very uptight on Fridays.

"Ivy, I am dead serious. We have shit to do before the party tonight. Please get up."

"Okay fine, I'm getting up. Wait hold on, why are we meeting at the shop? I don't have any meetings scheduled, I never do on Fridays," I wasn't sure if it was because I just woke up but I was beyond confused as to why I had to go in today.

"Lennon has to talk to us but she's working today. So, we're just gonna go to her. She said it was important."

"Alright, that's fine I'll be in the city anyways. I'll see you guys in a couple hours then."

"Bye Doll."

This better be good because there is nothing more I want then to stay in my bed right now.

I begrudgingly get up and walk over to the bathroom. God knows I need a shower after what I dealt with last night.

The people I deal with are disgusting to say the least. Everytime I meet with a client I feel like I am covered in filth. My hygiene is always the first thing on my mind. I think it's a trauma response but that's a story for another time.

I go to my closet and try to figure out what to wear today. Since I'm not meeting with anyone I can dress more casual than I normally would. I decide on white jeans, a white cropped shirt, and a sage green corduroy jacket. Also, can't forget the black sunglasses. I never leave the house without them. Except for parties.

Thirty minutes later I'm out the door and in my car.

"Do I Wanna Know?" by the Arctic Monkeys comes on and immediately my mood is through the roof. Music is one of the few ways to my heart. Some would say it's my love language but I could think of a few other things that could also be considered my love language.

Styles Bourbon is located in New York City but I live in the Grey Estates so it's a bit of a drive but I don't mind. I only go to this place because we always need a huge amount of liquor for our parties and on top of that, it's mafia owned. Makes the whole thing easier for everyone just in case any suspicions are raised. Although, there never is any. People turn blind eyes to pretty girls. Men are idiots.

Being a woman in the mafia is the most hilarious thing in the world. We constantly get overlooked and underestimated. Don't get me wrong, the mafia highly respects their women,  but only when they're being the good wives they're supposed to be. Why is it so hard for men to grasp that I can strangle them with my bare hands faster than they can fire a gun?